Campaign of the Month:
November 2016

X-Com: Defiance

Sun shines on the Hawthorne Grill as your team approaches. Large glass windows reveal a modest crowd occupying the high quality synthetic chairs, tables, and booths inside. All seating surfaces are covered with a comfortable vinyl padding that blends into the overall restaurant design. Cheap mass-produced art in plastic frames hangs from the walls and plastic plants dot the restaurant.

Stepping inside, you see a “wait to be seated” sign, but a whistle and wave draws your attention to the Johnson’s table. You easily make your way through the restaurant to join Sid. “Glad you could make it. Have a seat. For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Sid Gambetti. Pleased to meet ya. Feel free to get anything off the value menu, on me.”

An ork waitress with the name tag “Lola” approaches the table to take your orders.

As the waitress walks away to place your orders, Sid takes a large gulp of coffee and proceeds to explain the offer. “I guess we can get started. The job is an extraction job outside the US. Transportation to and from are included. The targets are willing and are going to be in a vulnerable place ready for the taking. The targets are not to be hurt. You rendezvous with them, then make your way to the docks and you are home free. The pay is a valuable artifact known as the Phaistos Dis if you are interested.”

Sid calls out to the waitress “Garçon? Little coffee here!” She returns and fills his cup, commenting “Garçon means boy” before walking away. He looks back to the team and asks “Any questions?” before slurping a drink.

“All-righty then, I think you have all the info you need. I need to go drain the lizard and hit the bricks. If you have any more questions hit me up on the comm. Trust me, it will be awesome—you guys are gonna storm in there like the last action heroes on the planet.” With that, Sid scurries away from the table to the restrooms.

As you start to look to your other teammates and discuss preparations for the upcoming mission, two patrons at another table jump up waving Ruger Super Warhawks.

“Everybody be cool, this is a robbery!” screams the blond male human in the Hawaiian shirt. This is quickly followed by the red-headed female human screaming “Any of you fragging pricks move and I’ll execute every mother fragging last one of you!”

gh0st’s commlink starting ringing. Switching to AR he say it was Allan. That could only mean Allan had broken some electronic device and wanted it fixed or there was a job. Either way he was getting paid.

“Hello Allan, what’s up? You lock yourself out of one of you commlinks again?”

“No I got us a job. Meet us at the…..”

Suddenly the commcall gets interupted and an icon of a tough looking paperboy riding a bike appears, what looks like an Initech debt collection satchel worn over his chest.

“Four week, 20 stories, that’s 2 nuyen plius tip.”

“What the hell, I’m not giving you a dime!”

“I didn’t ask for a dime, 2 nuyen.” The icon says in a threatening voice like drawing a switchblade from it’s pocket. As he depresses the button on the switchblade a comb rather than a blade pops out.

Having enough of this you go to switch off your AR by closing the virtual door of your house, the icon sticks his foot in the door link-locking you in AR.

Travelling down the underground tunnels of the Denver airport, you’re blinded by the sudden eruption of arcane light covering every color in the spectrum, including a few you didn’t realize you could see. As your vision recovers, the lights swirl together, forming the largest rift you’ve seen so far.

You steady yourselves and get ready for whatever manner of insanity is about to break through but nothing comes. Instead, the lights begin to lash out like whips. Shawn’s astral perception shows the artifact you are following has gone into the rift likely an hour or two ago. Knowing the only way to retrieve the artifact is to step into the rift you do so.

Your previous surroundings disappeared in a flash of light. As sight returns you’re barely able to tell. You’re not blind but the darkness around you is so deep it almost feels like it. Low-light struggles to make out the people around you as you prepare to defend yourself. Thermographic shows the mostly familiar shapes of your fellow runners, trees ten meters away in both directions, and a highly reflective pair of metallic lines running along the ground at the center of the trees. In one direction it disappears around a bend, but you can’t gauge the distance, the other, it disappears into a blackness. Looking around some more you notice that the shape of Mako seems to be missing, instead a much smaller form of a human stands in his place.

The air smells clean, cleaner than any air you are used to, but also musty and damp. Like you’re inside a cave, but looking upwards you can see small dots, maybe stars, but something about them is off. Your ears pick up the startled breathing of those with you, a slight rustling-slurp that seems to be coming from the leaves or something within the trees, and a distant vibration that seems to be getting louder.

The rumbling grows louder, but remains indistinct, while the rustling-slurps gain more slurp and less rustle. The inky blackness within the trees looks to be writhing when that darkness suddenly rolls and flows out towards you. An inky arm launches forward, slapping the ground in front out you and filling the air with a sharp scent of chlorine. As it retracts the ground where it hit sizzles and froths.

We approach in the van to the “haunted” house that the locals in the area directed us to. There doesn’t seem to be much in the way of electronics nearby. I drop into VR and take a look around. Not surprisingly there is a host running silently. I grab a mark and enter. Looks pretty much like the interior of the house might. A bunch of cameras, a few maglocks, scanners, drones and more all controlled by 2 nodes within the host. I grab a mark on the node which seems to be linked to the cameras. I send the feeds to the rest of the team. Then focus back on the rest of the contents in the host. I see a decker’s persona looking about. I try to grab a mark but fail – in return he gets a mark on me and notices I’m there. I try to data spike him but he fights me off. We exchange another round of data spikes and both get through. Mine was laced with biofeedback. Guess he didn’t like that so he logs. I send a last message through the node to unlock all the maglocks and then exit and jack before the ICE finds me.

“We need to get moving now. I messed up, they know we are coming.”, I say and André hits the gas and screeches to a stop by the gate. I see André dose with Kamikaze as I jump out the door and head toward the gate.

I spot a couple of drones heading in my direction. One takes a shot but I grab a bit of cover by the gate. The others advance and damage one of the drones before a couple of big, cyber’d mean nasty dogs rush Mako. He goes down again. Damn he falls hard. A bullet fires almost straight down between André and I. No clue who was targeted. André takes a shot and I hear a whispered “Damn right!” through the comms.

Shawn summons his second sadistic bunny which decides to feast upon one of the dogs. We manage to take down the 2 drones, both dogs and the killer bunny and head for the door.

A Renraku manservant drone takes a shot at André. I give it a slash and it falls and sparks fiercely. 20K nuyen down the drain. I send the video to Roy and promptly receive a “God damn it Grace! I can’t believe you did that and ….” I ignore the rest of the message and suspend further messages from Roy.

André opens the next door and throws in an explosive grenade. In return some turreted drone opens fire. Then a guard opens up with submachine gun fire. André looks to be in pretty bad shape.

I walk in and slash the guard pretty badly and Mako follows up with a punch that sends him flying into the corner. The others manage to take down the wheeled turret drone and I hear a scream from the next room.

André opens the next door and narrowly avoids getting hit by another Renraku manservant. I drop into VR and data spike the drone and he drops like a brick. Before I can exit VR, I see on Mako’s video feed that he entered the room and punched the downed decker/rigger. When I get there, it is immediately obvious that he’s dead. There’s an RCC that Roy will most likely want. My scan of the body pulls up an implanted deck, data jack and cybereyes. I open the access hatch to the deck and then look up to see Shawn casting a spell. Another damn bunny appears just outside the door and it heads right for André and stabs with the injectors on its hind legs. André goes down. We take out the bunny but Shawn is casting again. I point my sword towards him in a questioning motion and he quickly says “Antitoxin”.

Luckily no more bunnies appear.

“Umm guys, there’s a conversation in the guard’s commlink from yesterday and today…

Sent: Keeper, there is a Trog P.I. investigating around the neighborhood recently looking for that dandelion eater we nabbed for the ritual last month. What do you want done?

Keeper: If he comes around again kill him, nobody will miss a dirty trog. Also we need another sacrifice for the ritual, this one needs to be magically active.

Sent: Disabled the P.I.. Looks like he was magically active. Will he suffice for the ritual?

Keeper: He should suffice, Trogs have sentience even if only barely.", Grace looks nervously towards Mako but then realizes he wasn’t listening and is already on his way down to the basement towards the chanting. Yeah, of course there is chanting…

The Aurora Warrens, the Mile High Sports Complex or back to the airport those seem to be the spots with the largest rift activity. After a bit of conversation, you decide to check out the Aurora Warrens next after Mako wakes up.

As you drive through Denver, you see a number of signs that meta-humans aren’t too welcome in the city. It is probably best that Roy isn’t with you and that Mako was unconscious. The lemon aid stand may have experienced a drive-by shooting.

After a rest and some magical healing you head out to the Aurora Warrens, while most of the Warrens have been abuzz with all the rift activity in Denver, the neighborhood you’ve been directed to does not share that quality. In fact, its level of quiet is quite eerie after all the action. Rundown suburban homes line the curvy streets of what was once an upper-class utopia. While eerie and quiet, it is not empty. Brief glimpses of residents huddled inside the shadows of homes and shanties built from sheds, along with small tent clusters on several properties show that life still clings to this quiet suburban refuge.

A few pointed questions asked of the few sane locals able to answer them, points the finger at a creepy old house with a lot of bad juju.

The rundown Victorian style home seems to both blend with its neighbors while at the same time standing out. The entire neighborhood consists of large homes of various styles, Victorian encompassing this and at least two others you can see, allowing the large manor to blend among the other suburban mansions. It’s the grounds that seem off. The other homes lacked fences or build them where the home could still be ogled by those who passed.
The manor you’ve been pointed toward is surrounded by a two-meter stone wall tipped with wrought-iron spikes. A narrow hedge grows wild on the outside, while beyond you can see the grasses and bushes of the lawn have overgrown the space between. Two heavy metal gates offer entry. The smaller sits slightly bent but still closed, though the path beyond is completely overgrown, giving the image of the house rising from among the tall grasses. The larger gate, built for vehicles, was rolled a quarter of the way open before whatever tragedy took the last residents of this place. Beyond this gate, you can seen a half-grown-over drive leading to a large four-car garage designed to emulate the look of the housebut lacking any chance of matching the age.

This row of the neighborhood backs up to the steep slope of a man-made mount overgrown with weeds, bushes, and small trees clinging to their angular roots. The pile of dirt and rock obviously intended to create the feel of a mountain home while offering the intended residents, likely the richest of the local rich, more privacy.

The sounds of a firefight start to be heard, slowly growing louder although somewhat muted as if heard through water. When Grace realizes what it is, she attempts to draw her pistol and sword but her cyberarm clangs off something metal.

Where the hell is Alan and Godzilla, Grace thinks. Something seems wrong with that idea but she isn’t exactly sure what just now.

She shakes her head a bit to clear her head and realizes her eyes are closed. Oh that makes more sense, the Godzilla movie start screen is cycling on the screen of the Valkyrie module. She presses the button to open it up, climbs out and heads to the door of the van. She pulls up André’s video feed and GPS coordinates. From the video feed, she can see the fight is over and André is looking at the body of some alien mutated ork. She sends an “omw” message and heads into the weapons shop. Luckily Mako manages to avoid throwing a knife in her direction. Guess he didn’t understand what “omw” meant.

There is chanting which seems to be coming from down the stairs so André, Mako and Grace start down the stairs. As they near the bottom of the stairs, a toilet flushes and a door opens. André shoots and the guard is knocked back into the washroom. Grace rushes forward saying, “Gross! Wash your hands next time asshat!” and then slashes him with her sword.

“Gross!”, Grace backpedals as the guard explodes in acid. Luckily her armor protects her but the acid seems to be eating at it.

Mako moves forward and attempts to kick the solid metal security door open. It bends a bit and the card reader starts to spark but the door remains closed. Shawn runs down the stairs and works the keycard over the card reader a few times before the door opens.

Another one of the muton orks, grabs a big alien gun, like the one that shot Roy and Alan, and rushes towards the door. Grace looks in AR at that big alien gun, switches to the attack configuration on her deck and dataspikes the gun. The gun sparks, lets out a puff of smoke and all the lights on it turn off.

There are 4 other guys in the room working on a ritual. One breaks off and spits acid at Mako.

The muton throws down the gun in disgust and punches at Mako with his spurs. They proceed to punch at each other ineffectively exchanging blows.

Rifts opens behind Grace and a creature with large arms and a huge mouth pulls her into a tight hold, while a muscular blue humanoid races after Midnight. Grace manages to free her arm and stab the Maw with her sword. Luckily her armor saves her once again as the creature tries to take a bite. Grace stabs again and the creature dies while Midnight fires burst fire into blue giant.

Shawn casts a stun bolt at the mages in the other room. A rift opens up and a fanged monkey appears, runs and hides deeper in the room around the corner.

“You stupid monkey”, Shawn screams.

The mages in the other room seem to be having difficulties, maybe with the monkey?! One of them charges one of the others, grabs his medallion and then runs off in the direction of the monkey. Another grabs the muton’s big gun from the ground and heads in the same direction. Another couple of rifts open. A glowing ball appears from the one near André and a creature with long sharp claws appears from the other near one of the mages.

The glowing ball engulfs André briefly and his skin starts to turn yellow. The creature with the claws attacks the mage and the mage freezes as if turned into a statue. Another mage is frozen by the creature before it attacks the muton.

Mako picks himself up for the second time during his boxing match with the muton. André kills the gargoyle like creature before it can get to any of us. Grace finally downs the muton with a fourth strike from her sword.

Midnight rushes forward and downs one of the frozen mages. Mako rushes forward and punches the other frozen mage into a wall. André turns the corner and fires at some black nightmare of a creature with long tentacle like arms. It falls and dies but unfortunately that frees up the 2 mages who were fighting it and one of them launches a stun ball. Grace charges the other and impales him with her sword. André takes out the last one.

Technicoloured Dreams

For all the conspiracy theory that Roy had talked about regarding the Denver airport, your trip through it was uneventful and no immediate signs of an underground alien city. Probably for the best as Roy would be even more unbearable if he was right about any of it.

As you leave the airport, a message on your ’links directs you to the VIP bar on the fifteenth floor of the Brown Place hotel, telling you to look for the human with a white feather pin on his lapel.

The bar is packed, mostly with suits. A prevailing feeling of tension permeates the room as the suits deal with the current situation through copious consumption of drinks while bodyguards stand nearby. It’s easy to see who the bosses are and who’s the help; the help is sober. Among the suits are individuals who definitely have that runner vibe about them. Guess Mr. Johnson wants to hide in plain sight.

Speaking of, it doesn’t take long to find your Mr. Johnson. Sitting at a booth near the end of a small satellite bar, his pin is easy to find. As you approach he flashes you a million-nuyen smile of perfect teeth and activates a small area jammer for good measure.

“Thank you for coming. Things in this city are a bit frazzled of late with those rifts appearing everywhere. One must adapt and improvise. Now to the matter at hand. I need specialists to handle some reconnaissance and investigation. If you do this right, you shouldn’t have to fire a single shot. But I won’t lie; the current situation here is dangerous. That’s why I’m offering thirty thousand nuyen each for your efforts. Of course, you’ll want to ask more questions, and I’ll say that I can’t tell until you agree to the job. So how about we just get to the part where we negotiate the price you’ll need to take the job?”

After some negotiation on the price, “Excellent!” Mr. Johnson exclaims. “Now if you’ll allow me to send some data files to your comms. These files contain all the information I have regarding your assignment. Most of what you’ll be investigating are persons, or places, of interest. Do them in whatever order you desire. No detail is too small so learn whatever you can about them and report back to me. A contact number is also included. And before you ask, they come from a former associate who, wait … what’s that?”

Mr. Johnson jabs a manicured finger towards the bar as a jerking line of white light forms under an unsuspecting patron who’s completely unaware, likely because of the five shots of whiskey he’s already downed. The line surges with energy and what can only be described as a tear opens up. The bar patron and his stool are quickly swallowed with a muffled scream as unearthly light shines in from the tear. Five seconds later, several small things come rushing out.

Looking like cute cartoon animals from an ancient 2-D film but dipped in various swirls of neon paint. They hop, flutter, or waddle near the edge of the hole as another patron, also quite drunk, comments on “how cute” they are and reaches out to touch a florescent orange squirrel.

The squirrel then reveals a series of serrated teeth and tentacles and jumps toward the patron’s throat. The rest of the animals follow suit, attacking anyone nearby with a combination of razor-sharp teeth, claws, talons, tentacles or a combination of the above. Bodyguards or anyone sufficiently armed opens fire.

The last run brought down some heat for everyone involved (if you could just remember what that run was). You figure that in a week or so, the offended party will move on to the next big thing and you’ll be back in biz proper. Until then, you’ve settled into your squat for a break from the world. With corn popped, drink mixed, remote fully charged, and nothing better to do, you settle in for a nighttime trid marathon of classics and remakes in your comfy chair.

Your eyes snap open when you hear your commlink chirp, and you realize you must have drifted to sleep sometime during the night. Dawn breaks, and daylight peeks through the window. The trid marathon is still running, so you silence it and answer the call.

The image of the dwarf that appears is starting to go bald and hiding it poorly by wearing a ponytail. A chrome datajack is apparent in his temple, and a large diamond stud earring rests in his ear. He’s obviously holding his commlink in one hand and an obnoxious lit cigar in the other.

“Omae Allan! Didn’t wake you up, did I? It’s me—Sid Gambetti! Word is that you are laying low in Vegas, which is why I’d like to discuss a little out-of-town biz. Meet me at the Hawthorne Grill for some breakfast in an hour if you’re game. Ciao babe!”

With that, the image of the sleazy dwarf fixer disappears from your feed.

For some, reason you have this image if two donkey headed humanoid spirits guarding a disk that you had just grabbed, but you can’t seem to place the memory. Maybe it was just a scene from a bad 80s trid. Time to call the crew, Sid’s got you a job.

Following the astral tether from the fake disk Allan guides Roy toward Bosnia. As you get close to the final location a radio signal comes through the Venture’s speakers

“Unauthorized aircraft turn back or be fired upon by authority of Aztechnology Corporate Defence Force.”

“We can return later flying under the radar once we triangulate the location and learn exactly what we are flying into.” Roy says to the rest of you as he turns the plane around.

Eventually, Roy lands in a small airstrip outside of Sarajevo. Along the horizon you see military helicopters flying to the north, and closer, large cargo jets unloading gear onto trucks. You quickly notice Aztechnology logos on the trucks.

Guards patrol the streets in heavy armour with assault rifles slung over their shoulders. Armbands for officers list which merc company they work for. In other places, the blue helmets and body armour clearly call out UN forces striving to keep the peace. A nearby hotel has boards covering a dozen windows on the ground floor, and pockmarks from nearby explosions scar the plascrete walls. The Bosnian war may be long over but things aren’t exactly safe.

“Nothing but hills out that way…wait that’s not right.” gh0st says.“I think it may be the site of the debunked Pyramid of the Sun.”

“Found an article about Semir Osmanagić dated March 1, 2017, I’ll send you the link.”

Pseudoscientist Semir Osmanagić claims a series of triangular-shaped hills in his native Bosnia, are artificial pyramids that are bigger and older than those in Egypt.
Despite mainstream archaeologists saying they are just natural rock formations, Mr Osmanagic has made another bold claim that he has found Nikola Tesla’s so-called “torison fields of standing energy” at the Bosnian Pyramids site, which means we could now “communicate with aliens”.

Mr Telsa was a Serbian-American inventor, physicist, and futurist, who contributed to the design of the AC electricity supply system in 1888.

His ideas became more left-field and experimental towards the end of the 1800s, and he devised the theory of “standing waves” of energy coming from Earth that meant electricity could be transmitted wirelessly over long distances.

Mr Osmanagić has claimed the alleged discovery at one of the “34,000 year old” pyramids he calls the Pyramid of the Sun “changes the history of planet” and could lead to intergalactic communication.

He wrote: "The discovery of Tesla’s standing waves at the top of the Bosnian Pyramid of the Sun— which are believed to travel faster than the speed of light, while not losing strength as they pass through cosmic bodies—prove the existence of something referred to as a cosmic web or cosmic internet which allow for a immediate intergalactic communication throughout the universe.

“You want to guess which corp just recently hired Semir as an archeologist? So maybe, the whole Bosnian Pyramid thing is another carefully constructed alien conspiracy like the Denver airport. Just hiding in plain sight.” Roy interjects

“Eh man, maybe the artifact is what what is giving off that torison field thing?” Smoke suggests.

Damn Roy!

“Damn! Roy was right. Denver airport does look like a swastika from up here.” Grace remarks.

“You hear Roy talk about it and it is the hub of all conspiracy theories. Apparently, there is a stone dedication marker for a time capsule buried under an American flag at the south end of the terminal mentioning the ‘New World Airport Commission.’ The strangest thing about this is that the New World Airport Commission doesn’t exist. Roy argues that the New World Airport Commission really refers to the New World Order because its design features the square and compasses symbol associated with the Freemasons.” Andre adds laughing.

“He did mention a funny story about the airport to me. He mentioned something about Blucifer, a 32-foot-tall sculpture of a wild, cerulean-hued horse rearing up in anger. The eyes glow red at night, but that is just one hint of its evil energy. The giant horse killed its creator, sculptor Luis Jiménez, before it was even finished being made. That story always makes me chuckle.” Mako said chuckling.

“And don’t get him started on the murals, he swears they are foretelling a biological warfare to impose the New World Order. Take the markings that are beneath one of the biological-warfare-themed mural include a mining cart with the initials “Au” and “Ag” on it. To me, they are clearly the symbols for gold and silver. To Roy, they represent an abbreviation for the ‘Australian Antigen,’ a deadly strain of hepatitis that could be used as a weapon in biological warfare. " Shawn says laughing.

“Even, I’ve heard some of his stories.” Midnight says. “Including the one about the unused tunnels underneath the airport leading to underground cities populated by aliens.”

Killer's Trail Still Cold

“Tell me about it. I can’t tell if my share increased or not.” Roy says over the secure commlink channel.

“No, I mean that name we got, Hermann Meyer, I did a search on him. He’s in the news, he just got murdered. I’m sending you the article now.”

Dark Mage Buried

The life of Hermann Meyer, former leader of Frankfurt’s Dr. Faustus Society, will play out its final chapter today as he is interred in Hauptfriedhof Frankfurt. While his friends and family will be seeking closure, the investigation into his murder remains very much open, with police officials privately expressing their frustration at the lack of compelling leads.

“Everything we have seen tells us this was an intricately planned crime, and that plan extended right through the cover up. We really don’t have any solid leads to pursue,” said one official, who spoke on condition of anonymity.

Meyer’s body was found on the front lawn of his vast manor five days ago. The official cause of death is listed as massive blood loss, a technical phrase that hardly describes the horror visited upon Meyer. When his body was found, his chest and abdomen were nothing more than gaping wounds, and his entrails were found spread around his body. Some organs, including his heart, have yet to be found. Though hard evidence seems difficult to come by, one element of the case that has drawn considerable attention is the role that magic played in Meyer’s death. As Frankfurt’s leading Faustian mage, Meyer was no stranger to the dark side of magic, and there has been speculation that the same dark forces he tapped into in life may have been involved in his death. Mages working with the police report that a strong spell was cast in the area just before Meyer died, and many observers have commented that the grisly crime had the trappings of ritual magic.

These trappings have made many think of techniques employed across the ocean in Aztlan. In an effort to nip any negative speculation in the bud, Aztechnology has been quick to offer its support in finding the culprits.

“Aztechnology naturally abhors what happened to Mr. Meyer,” said spokesman Bernhard Goldschmidt. “We are fully confident that there is absolutely no connection between our corporation, our methods, and this crime, and we are very interested in seeing the guilty party or parties brought to justice.”

While the investigation continues, Meyer’s peers in the Dr. Faustus Society are committed to carrying on in their late leader’s name. In statements of tribute to Meyer, Faustians have cited his rigorous intellect and his tireless commitment to digging into and uncovering arcane secrets.

“The best tribute we can offer Hermann Meyer is to continue his work, which we will do. We will miss his presence, but his name will continue to be an inspiration,” said Hans Winokur, who has succeeded Meyer as the local leader of the Faustians. Winokur and other members of Meyer’s organizations are expected to be present at the internment of his remains.

The funeral is also likely to include unwelcome guests, such as protestors who believe that using police resources to investigate Meyer’s death is a waste, since he only reaped what he sowed. Councilman Eberhard Keller, who is believed to be connected to the ultraconservative group National Action, has been especially vociferous in his criticism of the official handling of the case.

“Meyer messed with bad things, so bad things happened to him. The amount of time and money the police are spending on this is ridiculous. When someone jumps off a building, they write it up as a suicide and leave it at that. Well, Meyer spent most of his life messing around with sources that were likely to kill him, and they finally killed him. So let’s leave the case alone. I think there are plenty of other problems, like the gangs running around, that they could be worrying about instead of looking into this,” Keller said recently in a public statement on the case.

Meyer’s friends and family did not offer a response to Keller’s statements.

Looking around Midnight saw nobody was paying any attention to him. Sneakingly he opened his commlink in silent mode.

Terrance had promised himself that he’d never, ever do this. If anyone found out, he’d never hear the end of it. “I’m a professional; I’m better than this.” he mutters. If anyone found out, who knows how bad of a hit my rep would take. Still, circumstances have left him little choice.

With a loud sigh, he reaches up to touch the SEND button on the AR window floating before him. Less than a second later, he receives confirmation that his application has been sent. At the same time he receives the standard message that officially welcomes him as a member of Matrix Harmony South Africa Matchmakers, the “Most accurate, expansive, and successful dating site on the Matrix!™”

How the mighty have fallen.

Ten seconds later, his inbox pings, alerting him to several messages of ‘interest.’ That was fast. As he scrolls through invites and pictures, an incoming-message window pops up over his already open AR window. But instead of scrolling right, he hits <accept>. The resulting image of Madame Benoîte’s face accidentally superimposing over the body of a bikini-clad troll is quite a sight as the New Orleans based talismonger goes into her normal spiel.

“Hoi, there! Heard you were in the USA and you didn’t come visiting. You anywhere near Denver? Been hearing about these rifts. The loa say that stuff is scary. I hear crazy stuff pops through.Some sort of metaplanar tear of some kind. I don’t know where it goes because the things that come through are like nothing I’ve ever heard of or seen. Word is these rifts something in the Astral started happening in Chicago yesterday then moved across the country to Denver where it is intensifying. You weren’t in Chicago recently were you, cause this is exactly the kind of weird crap that seems to follow you.”

“Anyway, Mr. Johnson needs someone to do some poking around who’s fully capable of handling themselves should things go sideways. And trust me, Denver is so sideways right now, it’s almost vertical. From what I hear, the payday is exceptional. So if you’re interested, I’ll send you the coordinates and time to meet and provide ground transportation while there. Also, even if you don’t take the job, pack for the worst because even if you don’t take the job, getting out may not be that easy. So whaddaya say? And … why are you laughing?”

You were almost out, Smoke was watching the guard he had influenced. The guard picked up his Ares Alpha and threw it into the crowd of protestors. One woman came away with the weapon, aimed and tried to pull the trigger but the biometrics protection prevented it. Smoke got an image of a bride throwing her bouquet to a gathering of women who all leaped to catch it… then a gun shot came from the side door striking him and taking him out of the fight. Was he alive or dead? Nobody knew. The bullet must of damaged his bio-monitor, because it had gone offline.

A flurry of gunfire from Allan, Zak and Roy took out the fast response team, while gh0st worked on cracking the security station to override the lockdown so they could get out. In seconds gh0st had overridden the exterior doors and the group rushed out providing cover for Roy to grab Smoke.

You get through the haze of gunpowder, smoke, and dust, and a quick look around shows people running everywhere as Roy armoured Ork frame barrels through the crowd of protestors with Smoke’s unconscious, possibly dead body draped over his shoulders. You hear screams of pain and despair filling the air as you make your way to the getaway vehicles. You are almost there and think you might just make it, when you see two Centurion Industries cruisers pulling up to the scene. Moving with purpose, but not so fast as to draw attention, you pile into the vehicle. The sun drenched seats are warm to the touch.

Smoke’s bloodied body lands in the back seat of Zak’s new car as Roy tosses him in before running to his Yamaha Nodachi motorcycle with Allan. You hope they don’t know it is your group they are after as you pull away from the curb. That hope dies as the cruisers pull out after you, with their sirens going. So much for making a clean, quiet getaway.

After a car chase involving oil slicks, spiked run strips and good old fashion vehicular ramming, Zak’s BMW leaves the cruisers behind by engaging the amphibious capabilities of his new car. While Roy and Allan leave their pursuers far behind through the superior speed and handling of his Yamaha Nodachi.

Meeting up later you check the escrow account and see it cleared into your account without any problems, also a file stating the disk was rerouted to a Hermann Meyer of the Frankfurt Faustians. It wasn’t as easy as Mr. Johnson told you it was going to be, but when is it?

You got paid, so that is good. As you start to think about how to spend some of the money, you hear a news feed about an attack on an NDC meeting in downtown. The news report cuts to a spokesman for Mr. Kushner.

“There was an apparent abduction attempt on Mr. Kushner, but thanks to the timely intervention of Centurion Industries we were able to prevent the abduction and Mr Kushner is fine and will continue with his remaining meetings.”

“As you heard from Mr. Kushner’s spokesman Mr. Rosenberg, the abduction was prevented. Now in other news….” The news anchor continues.

Shhhh, wait for it … and PFFTT! Oops, that is a mess. Next life the little guy will listen to that little voice in his head telling him t- CRAP!
“Team, we have a problem and its name is BFS – Big Freakin’ Spirit”

Miss! Wow, for a hulking pile of stones and dirt, it sure can move! CRACK! tagged it but, hmm, didn’t seem to bother it much.

“Smoke, can you do something about Thing? Its gonna be clobberin’ time otherwise. "

Kudos to ole Smoke. Despite the almost supernatural level of ganja and worse stench that has saturated him and his environment, he does command some damn effective mag – bloody hell, it didn’t seem to bother the Spirit.

Crack! and i am just chipping the paint. Crack.

Well now, THAT is more like it. “Well Done Smoke, it felt that!”

Oh dear, it seems that Smoke also felt that one.

What is that silly elf doing? He can’t possible think to hurt that Thing with his BB gun, can he? There he goes again. Maybe he likes the sound? Good to see that he can dodge the ricochets. Pretty smooth.

Alright, lets settle down and do this right. OK, breath, aim, hold it and CRACK! Ahh, there he goes and there they go.

Enter 1 room and exit 1 life. Bye Bye little business man turned politician. You may be missed, but not that much and not for long.

The Art of the Deal

It always comes down to money. It was true in 1863 and it is true today in 2072. Prison break or assassination? Both way over the moral line; both way over the legal line. So how’s a man to decide when principle-sacrifice is predetermined? Money of course. 20K or nothing? Good will is all well and fine, but it doesn’t pay the rent, or buy my ammo.

But are we being hasty? Maybe the prison break has some hidden benefits to it that we are missing. On the surface it is all resource expenditure with only the paydata at the end. There are lots of things that can go wrong, and if they do, we are already incarcerated – no need to arrest or trial.

But I wonder if this could be one of those ‘networking’ opportunities that Jax used to go on about. A little research will tell us who is also in that prison and a few quick calls could net us considerably more nuyen than 20K depending on the inmate profile at this place.

Hmmm. Ya. I think maybe a comm to that pretty elf with the stupid car is in order …

You are listening to the Loose Cannons go over their plans for the prison break while Roy and the troll Emillio are making a run for food. About 5 minutes after they left for the food run an incoming comcall comes in from Roy.

“Seems like the Loose Cannons aren’t all in favour of busting Carella out of prison. Emillio says that Carella used a certain fixer to broker the deal with the different buyer for the disk. That fixer wants a certain job done. Emilio says the fixer is willing to give us the name of the buyer in return for doing a wetwork job. What our move? Do the prison break or do the wetwork job?”

Hmm, prison break or single shot to the left ventricle from 1244 meters? Dilemma, Alan muses, dilemma indeed.

“Find out more about the wet work. I am fine if it is just pop and run, but if it is sneak into heavily fortified palace, administer contact poison and make it look like a case of bad shell fish, then no. Prison is easier because it stays still. No stalking, no unexpected security, no remote locations, etc. Also collateral damage really only hits the guilty – win win.

“Okay Emilio set up the meet with the Mr. Johnson.” Roy says.

“You mean Meneer Janssen.” Emilio corrects.

“Trust the Netherlands to ruin a perfectly good American name.” Roy mutters under his breath. “Whatever, set up the meet and we’ll decided once we get more info.”

A couples seconds later Emilio directs Roy and Zak to the Vi-Kings sportsbar. A few minutes later you arrive.

As your AR filter adjusts the volume of the music to a nice background hum, you look around. You see the VR feeds from Tokyo, Seattle, and Paris in different corners of the club. You start towards the bar as a young human hostess walks up and says, “Meneer Janssen is right this way,” and starts leading you through the crowd.

“Lead on honey.” Roy says.

You wind your way through the main room, trying to keep up with the broad-shouldered hostess. She looks back a couple times to make sure you keep up as she leads you to a backroom. You sit down in a chair and run your hand over the leather as she leaves to get a drink. You are sure it’s real leather, and after a minute she brings your drink.

The feed from Roy’s image link focuses on her chest as she returns. At which point you notice her t-shirt says ‘Look me in the eyes when you talk to me’ in AR then it switches to ‘or else.’ And it shows her decking a troll three times her size. She smiles sweetly, like she knows what you just saw and says, “Meneer Janssen should be with you shortly.”

After everyone is seated and has a drink, a scrambled trideo figure crackles to life at the far end of the room.

“Thanks for meeting me, and I hope we can do some business together. Don’t worry, the feed I am using is completely secure. Unfortunately because of demands on my time, my position, and the fact that I cannot be associated with this, I couldn’t meet you in person.”

You try to focus on the distorted image but almost feel it is easier to look over its shoulder at the wall.

He pauses for a moment then continues, “I need you to kill someone—a high-ranking someone, in fact. I won’t lie, it will be difficult even with the indirect assistance I can give you, but I’ll pay you 20,000 nuyen each to complete it, the nuyen will be held in an escrow account until the mission is completed. Do we have a deal?”

Emilio’s fixer who up to this point had been silent adds “In addition the file on the individual who contracted Carella for the disk, will be added to an escrow account.”

“Well guys, looks pretty much like a no brainer”, Zak says over the sub-vocal mic to everyone, “We can break someone out of jail for free just to get the name and there will most likely be lots of ‘collateral damage’ as Alan calls it. Also keep in mind Carella has already betrayed one person with this artifact. Or we can get paid to kill someone and also get the name. Here we can hopefully minimize the collateral damage. Besides my BMW could really use a few more upgrades.”

“Ok”, Zak turns to the trideo projection, “We agree in principle with the deal, but it is impossible to agree to the compensation without knowing who the target actually is.”

There is silence for a few seconds before Zak blurts out, “This isn’t Trump again, right?”

“Oh, please let it be Trump”, Zak hears Alan say over the mic.

“Good. I’m glad we could come to an agreement in principle. Here is a picture of your target. His name is Jared Krushner, senior adviser to the Trump administration.” As it is loaded to the room, anyone who wants to can copy it to their commlink.

“Usually he is hard to locate and is hidden behind his security team, but I learned he will be speaking at a Netherlands’ Development Consortium meeting in two days.”

“What the hell is an American doing here in the nether regions?” Roy asks.

“The Netherlands are the third largest foreign investors in the US, and the US is the second largest foreign investors here in the Netherlands, but none after that matters. As my father said, Don’t waste energy worrying about things you can’t control. Spend your energy focusing on solutions. That’s what we are here to do, Mr. Anderson.”

“To continue, Centurion Industries security is in charge, and because of all the different big wigs that will be present, he won’t have his usual security detail. Half an hour before his speech, he will be in an office on the third floor of the MCC using a green room of sorts. I have been able to get you security credentials and uniforms that will allow access to the building on that day. These passes only permit you to carry a pistol, but my contact, who will give you the passes and uniforms, can smuggle a few other items in ahead of time. You will be able to retrieve your items once inside.”

“My contact, Paul Jones, will meet you noon tomorrow at the Foo Wang Restaurant. Anything you want smuggled in must be given to him then, and he will give you the fake credentials and uniforms.”

“Any questions?”

“Just about the pay. It seems on the low side.” Zak says with an elbow to Roy’s side as he seems about to get in on the negotiations.

After some back and forth. “I can see to raising the payment to 24K each. Final offer. Are you in?”

“I had hoped you would be able to return my dear Erin to me, but I understood from some of your literature that such corporeal cohabitations are damaging for the original occupant. Nevertheless, I thank you for releasing Erin from outside control. Before I depart, I believe I committed to some compensation.”

Your commlink chimes as money hits your account.

“As I understand it you may be in need of transportation out of this quarantine zone. According to local matrix data streams, there are two groups offering smuggling services, the Spire Enterprises smugglers and the Lake Calumet smuggler haven controlled by a Don Roland ‘The Greek’ Stephanopoulos. If you should need me again, place a call to this commcode and leave a message for Mr. Williams.”

“I’ve never broken in to a church before on a run.”, Grace whispers to André before Mako busts open the door, “I guess nothing is sacred anymore especially not after seeing that alien snake ‘person’ through the window.”

Mako smashes his shoulder into the door but manages to keep a hold on the handle so the door doesn’t smash into the wall. Grace and André enter and grab defensive positions in the hallway as Eric, Papa Midnight and Sean run across the side street to the door.

A police officer turns walks past the hallway. He takes a bullet from Grace’s Predator, several from André’s automatic and falls. Normally I’d have knocked him out rather than kill him, Grace thinks to herself, but he was in the church with this snake thing.

The snake thing comes around the corridor having heard the sounds of suppressed gunfire. He spits some sort of toxic material at André and Mako. Grace rushes forward into the room and slashes the snake. Mako charges as well to exact his revenge on the snake but the snake reacts quickly and manages to constrict Mako.

“Oh, hell no!”, Grace avoids vomiting as Altarboy… alters? He sheds his ‘human’ skin and turns into some grotesque parody of a person.

He proceeds to walk up to Mako and slashes at him with his claws. The Bishop also gets in on the action and throws a lightning bolt at Mako. Mako struggles against the snake but then his head collapses and lolls against his shoulder.

Grace stabs the snake again while more bullets fly at it before it falls. Grace leaves the others to deal with whatever the hell Altarboy has become. She delivers a solid slash to the Bishop and then a few seconds later a second one which takes him out.

Erin had been sending out bursts of electronic interference, attempting to disrupt our gear while she was standing near the Bishop. Now with Grace right on top of her, she draws a pistol and fires a few shots. Grace’s vision goes dark as she sees Erin move off firing.

Grace wakes up with Andre beside her administering first aid and smelling salts. André and Sean seem to be in mid conversation.

“By all accounts, he should have died. Trolls are just damn tough I guess.”

Erin’s head made an echoing thud as it hit the top of the altar at the Basilica of St. Hyacinth. Remo could feel the impact inside Erin’s mind, even though he couldn’t feel her presence there. Her fight with the hit team had gone wrong. Very wrong. Remo reached out to the Matrix and found only a gun camera pointed into darkness, as if the gun were holstered and concealed.

A bishop, in full vestments and mitre, took a step back from Erins body and gestured as if to present her as an offering. “Elders, we offer this vessel for inhabitation. It will serve you well as an instrument of your will.” The bishop spread a dark, greasy ointment around the edges of the altar and finally across Samantha’s forehead as tendrils of unnatural darkness surrounded her from below. The tendrils wrapped around Samantha’s body and then shot into her nose and mouth toward her brain. As the tendrils vanished into her, a cold wind howled through the sanctuary.

Remo reached back into the gun camera’s memory as another person might flip through a paper file. He found what he hated to see: an hour ago, this gun had shot Erin in the back. Remo screamed as if no one could hear him.

But the abyss answered back. “This vessel is ours now. We will use it to bring this world to its knees.”

Remo screamed at the voice. “She is not an ‘it’! You will pay for what you have done to her!”

The voice laughed from the abyss, and Remo felt himself ejected from Erin’s mind. The resonance link between Erin and himself was severed.

Erin stood upon the altar, now a silent guardian of the corruption that had taken the church.

Remo reached out for something, anything, in the noise of the Matrix within the Chicago Containment Zone. He found a dead guy’s PAN, grabbed on, and sliced through the firewall. Inside, he found cameras for a smartgun and a pair of cybereyes. Through the cybereyes he saw a body without a head and in the corner of the smartgun camera he saw a head without a body. This was the last guy Erik Dreyfus had carved up before being shot.

He also found some files in the commlink and began to do what data sprites do best: process and search for more data. Within minutes, Remo had reassembled the man’s life. According to his SIN, this was Victor Bilson, a ‘corporate security liaison’ for a company called Jaguar Technologies. So Aztechtology took Erin, Remo thought. But what’s been done to Erin is not normal corporate behavior.

Victor Bilson had access to a slush fund, no doubt to finance certain deniable assets. “What an interesting idea, Mr. Bilson,” Remo whispered into the Matrix. “I believe I shall have to assimilate it into my own code.” Calling up locations of Erin’s contacts, he transferred a small amount of money to Bilson’s personal account for later retrieval. He uploaded a portion to a fake SIN he’d helped create a few months ago. The SIN wouldn’t hold up long under scrutiny, but Remo hoped it would hold long enough. The rest he transferred to the account of a man nearby he knew would care about what had happened to Erin because he had cared before: Andre de Vries.

Your plane skids to a stop on a narrow runway of Bolingbrook’s Clow International Airport, fishtailing as the pilot fights against the wind and the water-covered runway. Andre looks out the window at the dark clouds boiling across the sky.

“Looks like we hit the tail of the storm,” Andre says, gathering up his bags. “Let’s get rolling. The sooner we find this thing, the sooner we can get the hell out of here.”

It would appear as if their stay in the windy city by the lake will be filled with rain. Hard rain. There’s no lightning—yet—but thunder rolls almost continuously.

Andre’s ringing commlink jolts him out of his thoughts.

The caller ID says “Eric Dreyfus.”

“Hello. This is not Eric Dreyfus.” The voice over the commlink pauses between each word, as if Dreyfus were auditioning for a Shakespearean play. "My name is … "

In mid-sentence the voice switches from Eric Dreyfus to something more obviously artificial. " … Remo. I have a job for you."

Remo’s speech assumes a normal talking pace as he gives up using Dreyfus’ recorded words. “Something is wrong with my friend, Erin, and I have need of your special skills to correct her problem. Last night, she was ambushed by a team, and a second team stepped in to take down all of us. My resonance link with Erin was severed shortly after that, when her mind was hacked.” He pauses, as if searching for something.

“No, not quite hacked, but what people call ‘being possessed.’ I need you to remove the hacker from her mind and save her if possible. In the short time since her hacking, I have done some research. I understand it may not be possible to save her, but she is dangerous and needs to be stopped before she does something terrible against her will. I know you will require compensation for this tasking and I believe I have acquired an appropriate funding source. One of the first ambush team members was named Victor Bilson, he was employed by Jaguar Technologies as a corporate security liaison, and he had access to a fund for deniable assets. I decided I would incorporate that portion of his code into my own and employ some assets to do what I cannot. I can compensate your team for the amount of forty thousand nuyen. Will you assist Erin?”

Golas leads you back through the kitchen to a private meeting room. There is a muffled noise coming from inside the room, which quickly turns into full shouting as soon as the door is opened.

“..LETHIMTWIST! I’M NOT….” a deep gravelly voice shouts.

The shouts break off in mid-tirade as the team turns to look at you. You recognize the woman from your commcall and guess that the troll across the table was the one whose arm was in the picture before. In addition there is second elf, a human and an ork.

“You made it. May as well sit down and tell us what was so bloody important. If you want to talk to Malcolm, you’ll need to convince us that it’s okay.”

One thing strikes you as strange when you look around the room: there are several glasses, bottles of soda, and pitchers of water. For a meeting in the back room of a bar, the containers all seem oddly free of alcohol.

Zak explains that you are looking for the Phaistos Disc that Malcolm stole from a Greek museum.

“The Heraklion Museum job. The goods were all shipped to a location in San Francisco via a slow-moving cargo ship. But Carella removed the disc just before the container was sealed. He paid each of us an extra 5,000 nuyen and said that the disc was being sent to a different buyer. Only Carella knew who the other buyer was.”

“The original buyer wouldn’t have gone by the name Rosenberg would it?”

“His name seems to get around a lot.” The female elf says. “If you are interested in the name of who Carella sold the disk to you are going to need to help us break him out of prison.” The Troll seems to be unhappy when she says that, but she carries on without paying any attention to him. “Let me introduce you to the Loose Cannons.”

After introductions are given you know that the Loose Cannons consists of Widget, a female elven rigger/decker; Hiver, an elven ranged specialist/medic; Emillio, a troll heavy weapons specialist; Nerefeiz, a human face and Yuyi, an ork covert op and B & E specialist.

“We have the beginnings of plan, but we were short on manpower. With the addition of your team we can deal with both the external reinforcements and the internal security. The basic plan is to hack into the system, acquire a floor plan to double check it matches with the rough plans we have and check which cell Carella is located in. This will only require access to the administrative host, rather than the more secure security host.

We fly into the building. Land on helipad, take down guards using overwhelming firepower. Leave Emilio in helicopter with Widget to detonate charges on the street as oncoming vehicles respond. He also keeps an eye on Widget while she is in the Matrix. Hiver, Nerefeiz and Yuyi can lay the charges and tackle the external security while you deal with the internal security forces and free Carella"

Alan, thanks for the save from that crazed bastard. You mentioned that you were heading to Hamburg to catch a thief and as you may know I once ran those shadows before I got into a disagreement with the local vory.

Anyways, here’s the abridged version of surviving in Hamburg.

The Hanseatic Free City of Hamburg has been a rat’s nest of smugglers, pirates, and other zwielichtiges Gesindel (shady characters like you, mesh-head) since the Hanseatic times of old, and it still hosts the largest scene of criminals and wannabes in Northern Europe. A chunk of the city was flooded in 2011 and stayed that way, leaving it as the “Venice of the North.”

If you need to lose a tail or drop the pursuing HanSec (the local constabulary), you can head to some of the lower lying streets. There are plascrete jetties for long-term use and the occasional plank tossed between boats and pontoons to create a quick bridge. Make sure you don’t fall in, though; the black water will leave you sick and wishing you were dead. Get to know some of the smugglers in the area and they will keep you safe for a price

The uptown districts like the Nordstadt enclave (a whole district’s worth of corp-zombie offices and apartment towers), Eimsbüttel (media biz and bean counters), and Wandsbek (metroplex administration) are the home ground of wageslaves of all kinds, while the dilapidated buildings of the southern districts like Harburg and Bergedorf house all the lower echelons of society.

Hamburg’s central districts are where you will find the thickest shadows. Mingling up and downtown, the Neue Mitte (most of which is nerved by waterways) and Altona are the districts where the class divide blurs under shining holo-projections, colorful arrows, and flashing neo-lights.

No surprise then that Neue Mitte is an AR spam zone. You can’t walk through the Reeperbahn in open mode without being swarmed by kinky RFID body tags that hookers and hustlers employ to advertise their goods. However, runners and fixers have been known to use the tag system as info drop boxes, hiding and encoding data under virtual graffiti.

Avoid these last two zones until you know what you are doing in the city and have a plan on getting in and out: The Z-zone Wildost (Wild East) contains a former Baltic-Polish refugee camp sprawling over a concrete reef of submerged building blocks. Illegal immigrants, the SINless, and anti-tech or green communes like the Klabauterbund eke out their miserable existence in this stinking silt morass, making do with floating container blocks, house-hovercrafts, and yurt barracks. The locals just call it die Sickergrube (the Seeping Pit) because any scum picked up uptown inevitably ends up in these waters.

Wilhelmsburg (known locally as Big Willi) is the strangest district. Built as an Alcatraz-like prison island/labor camp, it is surrounded by a drone perimeter and guarded only on the island’s rim by HanSec. The prison itself is autonomous (and extraterritorial), except for food parcels that are dropped into the area daily and distributed along the prevailing food chain. As part of their punishment, the prisoners work 24/7 in automated production lines for the benefit of the city—and if they don’t, food delivery is suspended.

If you need to get some gear, talk to one of the local Schmidts (you call them Johnsons). Black markets (some of them underwater) float around the Neue Mitte on a regularbasis. My favorite was the old Fischmarkt, a pontoon market that opens early every day. You can pick up about almost anything there except fish, including illegal goods like weapons and restricted tech, all traded under the counter. The Lobatchevski Vory still ride high on the tide in Hamburg, subcontracting their illegal operations to Scand Vikings gangs, Dutch Penose thugs, and hover-gangs like the Wasserratten (Water Rats). They’ve kept some competition at bay by sharing the market with indy smugglers, kapers, pirates, and the Luden (Hamburg’s independent panders), but the constant influx of Baltic Red Vory enforcers into the underworld has led to serious flare-ups in the canals.

Hamburg is a breeding ground for political agitators of all sorts, as the senate has always used its ties to activist groups and rads as a front to restrain the corps from excessive meddling in the sprawl’s affairs. With the nationalist, left-wing, Green, anti-corporate, and anarchist politicos backing their senators in the ongoing conflict with the German government, Hamburg has become a thriving hive of subversive political elements in the last few years. Rad groups also schedule rallies, and more direct action, to push their agendas. Starting trouble at a rally will draw the attention of the crowd as much as HanSec—bad publicity can deal a blow to the rads so they police their own.

“Hello Doctor Kani. You can barely tell this place has gotten shot up multiple times this year.”

“Morning Mr. Anderson. What brings you to me today? You aren’t bleeding all over by clinic like most of your visits.”

“Well Doc, I’m planning on travelling soon and I could use a couple of medical complications to cover my use of certain augmentations. These medical complications somehow got left off my charts by my previous medical practitioners. Their forgetfulness to include these complications was likely racially motivated to cause me problems with border crossings and such.”

“Ahhh, and could you refresh my mind as to what medical complications were you experiencing Mr. Anderson?”

“Well Doc, as you know I got these here wire reflexes and reaction enhancers to help with my degenerative nerve condition. Then as you know I needed platelet factories to help with my hemophilia. Then there is the cerebellum booster for my head trauma or something. Add in some muscle toners and a medical reason for those. Maybe tie it all in to my transformation into an Ork. Those nazi racists at the German border will probably love any documentation showing that Ork’s aren’t genetically superior to them.”

“I think i can come up with some suitable medical history Mr. Anderson.”

“Oh and throw in a case of osteoporosis or something, I’m figuring on getting some bone lacing soon.”

“I’ve been searching the matrix about routes into Chicago. Found a video that might be of interest. Some people are saying the government is behind those canisters, but they look like what we saw in the Ares Office of Special Projects. Plus some comments on entering/exiting Chicago.”

>>>Click Image to view video<<<

>>>>>>> O’Hare usde to be one of the busiest airports in the world. These days seems like the only traffic at OH is military – and lots of it. Sec-wise it’s a fragging military checkpoint. Anybody heading in don’t try O’Hare. Or Midway – it’s closed down and soldier boys crattered the runway.<<<<<
- Wingman

>>>>>>> Forget gettin’ in by road. All roads into Chicago stop at Trump’s Wall – a huge barrier made from the rubble of collapsed buildings (blown up by the USA military, thank you very much). Oh, and the military left a nice wide kill zone, about thirty to forty meters so they can take their sweet time drawin’s a bead on any slag trying to run across. And if they soldiers don’t getcha, the gangers will.<<<<<
- Road Kill

>>>>>>>> The Coast Guard’s intercepting all boat traffic these days. Two choices, chummer – let them capture you, or take a fast trip to the bottom of Lake Mich. You get a single warning, so make your choice quick. I’ve heard rumors about “stealth boats” making it to shore, but I’ve never seen it happen and I don’t know anyone who has (at least, not anyone whose word I’d trust).<<<<<<<
- Algren

>>>>>>>> Wanna hear something really funny? Ain’t no scuba gear left anywheres in the Zone – every slag who could get his hands on some used it to walk outta here across the bottom of the lake. Wild, neh?<<<<<<<
- Big Foot

“Also tripadvisor is currently suggesting we give Chicago a pass. Too many Orks and Trolls.” Grace adds.

going from 1 to 2

“Again!” cried Allan. “Again and again and again until you stop looking like an 40 year old arthritic bear.”
But I am a 40 year old arthritic the size of a bear. But I keep those thoughts in my own head and just practice the movements that the Allan promises will return some flexibility to this tired and battered old body.
It is embarrassing really. 15 years ago, I could have worked for the Russian Ballet. 10 years ago I would still have been flexible enough to do Dances with the Star in Dublin. But that was before the neurotoxins and 8 years of sleeping on bricks and concrete in cardboard boxes. That I can move at all is nothing short of amazing, but watching these young punks dance and twirl about is killing me. Even that puny, anemic cyber geek gh0st looks to be lighter on his feet than me. I expect that the elf would be smooth and I understand that the combat types move well, though Roy is eerily unnatural, but how did I let myself get so worn down that even a decker has more grace!
So, back at it time and time again until I knock the rust off and return some value to the chummers who have give me back my life.
.
“Just 45 more minutes! Jump. Spin. Duck. Up. Dodge. Down. Up! Again! Jump. Spin. Duck. Up. …”

Gather round chummers, Ol’ Sean has a solution to your problems. And no little piggy is going to get his nasty tail straighten out about chips on his toy’s paint either.

In looking at Chicago, I have noticed that the city is built along the shores of a huge body of water. Rather than fly in or drive in, I suggest we infiltrate through the water ways.

Before you all lose your minds, I have a couple of reasons for this:

1) Land boarders can be manned 24/7 by pretty much any men. Monitoring water, especially underwater, requires specialized teams who can only operate for limited times before BADTHINGSHAPPEN. We would have greater windows for penetration and infiltration.

2) There is a large likelihood that water defences will be barriers and sensors with human back up when sensors are triggered. Naval yards have been using this system for years quite successfully, so the addition of surface patrols will likely be considered sufficient. However, barriers and sensors are often easier to get around than people with guns and radios and barriers and sensors.

3) A map of the city reveals there to be a fairly extensive canal/waterway system throughout the city. Once in the water ways, moving around the city will be a lot easier and very unexpected. Although this may seem a slower path, it will not require us to evade active searches and patrols and should greatly reduce our number of encounters and subsequent fire fights. Although some relish the opportunities that physical conflict represents, in a city of hostiles, some discretion would not be a bad idea.

4) water slows bullets if we are discovered and very few people carry depth charges. Unless they use concussion grenades, and are very, very accurate with them, we will be mostly safe from immediate attack giving us time to escape and hide as needed.

5) I have been watching a lot of trid with Allan and no one ever seems to expect an underwater insertion, so we are almost certain to succeed. Allan was thrilled with the plan when I talked to him.

So there we are chummers. Get a few air tanks, some thermite or an earth elemental, some area jammers and we are good to go.

In the aftermath of Rosenberg Challenge, Allan is sitting in the lounge relaxing with a scotch while Sean and Winston go on about the changing seasons and the need to get the flu shot and to check their vaccines to combat illness as winter approaches.
Intrigued by this, Allan askes a silly question that draws some confused looks.
“Vaccination? Has Dr. Jenner’s work taken off then? Deaths from smallpox were greatly reduced, in my time thanks to his ingenious work and discoveries. And, I have not heard of any cases in any media, now that I think about it. It sounds as though there has been some work done in the last 200 years.”
Winston and Sean look at Allan a little oddly. They had heard about his peculiar beliefs, but had never been around when evidence of his ‘condition’ surfaced.
With an eyebrow cocked in Sean’s direction, Winston replies, “Yes, I suppose you could say that they have ‘taken off’, as it were.”
Noticing the look and recognizing the signs, Allan asks, “Alright, what have I missed this time?”
10 minutes later, Allan sits up and exclaims, “What?! We are not immune to HOWMANY diseases?”
“30 or 31 that would have been common in ‘your era’”, Winston replies with a little derision.
“Well, where can I get them!” demanded Allan. “I have been suffering from a host of ailments since waking, and had no idea it was preventable!”
“Why don’t you come by the clinic tomorrow and we can do an immunity test to see what shots you have gotten and what shots you need.”, suggested Winston.
“Capital! I shall be there at opening.” Allan finishes his drink and walk out.
“And we can finally get through to him that he is NOT a 200 year old reincarnated Hunter,” murmurs Winston to Sean.
________________________________________
“What?!? Nothing?! Check the samples again!”
“We have checked the samples 2 times already Dr. Kani. The results are the same. Whomever you got this sample from has had absolutely NO vaccines and no immunization for anything.”

“How is that even possible in this day and age ,for Pete’s sake,” exclaimed Winston.
“It isn’t, unless your friend has lived under a rock for the last 100 years. I just don’t know Doctor, I just don’t know.”
________________________________________
“Allan. Hi it’s Winston. Could you come by the clinic this afternoon? I’d like to see if I can help you with some of your seasonal sensitivities.

“As you know, Smoke and Mako were unavailable the last couple days. They were convincing a local fortune teller that it was in his best interests to take a short vacation. This allowed Smoke to take over said fortune teller’s business in order to provide a most troubling fortune to one of his superstitious clients. A fortune of bad luck and karma that will haunt him as long as he continues working for his current employer. That was phase one.”

“Your job is phase two and it is a little different from what you may be used to, but it should be low-risk. I’m providing 40K nuyen (you can try and negotiate for more) to pay for any incidentals, you can keep the unspent amount.” Laurent calls up the image of a middle-aged human male on the trid projector. “Today is Tuesday. I need you to ruin this man’s life in ten days—by next Friday.

“Your target is Clay Foster, a materials scientist working for NeoNET. He lives with his wife in Hout Bay Security Estates, a squeaky-clean wageslave community north of Hout bay. Foster works at a small NeoNET facility a few kilometers from his home.”

“This office is a telework facility—the employees come here and remotely access their actual workplaces across NeoNET’s secure grid. Laurent provides Foster’s home and office addresses. Foster’s wife, Janet, owns a small restaurant Cheyne’s, also in Hout Bay Security Estates just off the beach.”

Laurent lays out the conditions for the job.

“The goal is disruption, not destruction; I have plans for Foster here at XCom.”

I want the following aspects of Foster’s life disrupted

Foster individually—putting obstacles in his way for routine tasks, or nuisance-level attacks on his person

Foster’s wife, and their relationship;

Foster’s home; and

Foster’s work life

You are free to split your efforts among these areas as they wish, as long as you find a way to cause a problem in each area of Foster’s life. I want each aspect of his life hit at least once with a minimum of five incidents. No more than one big incident per day be attempted, to avoid arousing suspicion from NeoNET security (or Knight Errant). I’ll need some kind of documentation of what they did and how it affected Foster.

Laurent emphasizes the team can’t cross the lines of major violence or destruction, but beyond that, anything is fair game. The bottom line: you cannot kill Foster or any member of his family and should avoid killing anyone. Also you will need to ensure that the Foster’s can’t identify any of you as causing any of the incidents since the goal is to eventually have him working with you.

I know it’s hard to believe but i’m telling you the info i’ve got was smuggled out from one of the alien ships in area 51. The whole reason why aliens to anal probes and cattle mutilation is explained and why some humans get alien chips implanted in them.

Them aliens need methane to charge their phase conductors of their quantum engines. They got two choices Nelly the bovine or Bubba the human. Human methane doesn’t damage their phase conductors so a simple probe is used. Bovine methane needs to be refined by creating an osmosis filter out of their internal organs. That’s why the cattle mutilations.

And if the human produces methane quickly, then they chip them for easy finding later should they need them.

I’m telling you it is like that principle the Oklahoma Razor. You know the one that says the simpleton’s explanation is usually the better one.

“Ok, sure. Well I’ll see you on the plane to Montreal in a couple of days then.”

Grace gets off the Northline metro as close as possible to the warehouse. A little less than a kilometer. Enough to be dangerous but a little to close to bother with a cab.

Grace keeps an eye on AR for hidden icons or weapons. A couple of short blocks from the warehouse, a weapon pops up on AR on one of a few youths just at the entrance of the next alley. Grace slows her pace and throws a quick data spike at the pistol.

“What the frak?”, one of the gangers reaches for his commlink as another data spike fries his pistol.

The three gangers start forward toward their mark.

Grace points her Ares Predator and tags one of the gangers with a gel round.

They still come forward but now at a sprint. Grace takes one more shot with the Predator which takes down the first ganger.

One of the gangers rushes forward with a knife and stabs. Grace parries with her sword and then kicks out the other ganger’s legs. He falls down and his club goes flying.

The knife wielder stabs again but Grace gets out of the way enough that the knife can’t penetrate the armored vest. Both gangers start to back up. The one who dropped the club looks at his friend and then turns to run. The other looks down and sees the sword pull out of his chest and the blood gushes forth.

Grace walks into the warehouse, wanders past the bar and climbs up into the rafters just checking out the atmosphere. Damn should have come a bit later she thought when she pulled up the schedule of the DJs and realized she didn’t like the first one who was still mid-set.

She pulled up AR again and started scanning the room. So the normal stuff you’d find anywhere: cameras, commlinks, earbuds and glasses. The rave stuff like: whirling blinking lights and toys, clothes, hell even vibrators…

She hacks her way into the security system and starts to move about in the cameras. Outside shows more people coming and a few security guys trying to keep things in order. Inside shows the strobe lights, disco balls, lasers and dancers moving without thought to the beat of the music. Another camera shows the inside of the office space which is now filled chairs and tables as a chill out room. The last camera shows a nice little empty foyer with a small couch, a few chairs and a few end tables.

Later in the night after a few different DJs have taken the stage, Grace is dancing and a cute guy has been trying to get her attention. Its hard to avoid contact now that the space is packed and their bodies have been bumping and grinding for most of the last set.

She turns and starts to make her way through the crowd and heads toward the chill out room for some much needed water. The cute guy following right along behind her. She buys a couple of water bottles, finishes one in hurry. She goes into AR again, the foyer is still empty, she hacks the lock and sees the green light go on.

“Ok, follow me”, she says to the cute guy as she grabs the door. After they enter, their lips lock, she opens her eyes briefly and notices the camera in the corner. Flipping back to AR, she cycles the camera before going back to enjoying the attention.

“We are going where?”, Grace blurts out blushing. She promptly changes her display to her matrix persona.

“To a warehouse on…”, Alan starts to respond.

“I heard you”, Grace states a bit to forcefully.

“Then why did you ask?”

“I think that means she knows the place. You know the layout and security, Grace?”, André interrupts.

“I guess…”, Grace starts and then glances at Zak who is blissfully ignorant, “I guess you could say I’m intimately familiar with the place.”

The gentle lapping of high tide against the boardwalk pylons was almost hypnotizing as Oliver sauntered along the waterfront, Amahle’s hand warm against his.

I couldn’t have planned it better myself. It’s almost perfect.

The couple said nothing as they walked, lost in the peaceful evening as the sun began to set over the water. It was unusually quiet for a Sunday evening on Cape Town’s busy waterfront, but that only added to the young man’s conviction that the stars must be aligned perfectly. Even the restaurant patio above them was more subdued than usual, adding to the illusion that he and Amahle were alone.

As the sun began to touch the surface of the Atlantic far to the west, Oliver stepped slightly ahead of the young woman and turned to face her. Reaching out to gently take her other hand, he returned her contented smile, marvelling at how the orange light of the sunset danced in her hazel-green eyes. Her smile turned to puzzlement as he sank to one knee, still firmly but gently gripping her slim fingers.

“Amah, I know it hasn’t been very long since your world turned upside down, and I know the change has been hard. But none of that has changed the way that I feel about you, and it never will.”

The young woman’s eyes began to tear up, causing the sunset to sparkle even more in their depths. A single drop slid down her cheek to disappear behind the small tusk protruding through her lips. Oliver released her hand as she reached up to wipe at the wetness, dropping into his pocket for the small box hidden there. He ignored the slight commotion on the restaurant patio above them as he brought the velvet container into view, allowing her to pull back her other hand to cup them over her mouth in shocked delight. The clatter of a small round metal object on the boardwalk went unnoticed as he opened the box to show her the simple but beautiful ring.